


Hidden In Blue Stars

by LouismyFinnick



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouismyFinnick/pseuds/LouismyFinnick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a playwright looking for inspiration. He's lived in New York City for seven months with little to nothing to show for it. When he finds a boy who he believes to be his muse, Harry's life is completely altered. He realizes he needs him just as much as the boy needs Harry....on a professional level, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden In Blue Stars

The streets of New York shimmered at night. Although one thing Harry had learned after seven months of living there was not to look too closely or the beautiful illusion would be stained by rubbish and cockroaches. The air was crisp, even with it being early spring, and it had that wonderful ozone-killing smell to it that never truly washed out of your clothing. Yet Harry still loved it. He loved the city as much as he loved his small hometown in Holmes Chapel. Every night held a new adventure, and that night’s excursions consisted of eating at the Stardust Diner. People in his workplace had been raving about it since Harry first arrived. So tonight he had decided it was the night to go. He’d eat a nice dinner, enjoy the performances by the workers that he had so often been told of, and hopefully go back to his flat with a new idea to write about. That was his only problem in this beautiful city. Every new sight and sound weaved a thrilling new plot in his mind, but none of them ever lasted long enough to give Harry a conclusion. In simple, he had writer’s block. Harry had never been so frustrated. He had called friends, family, co-workers, actors, directors, the whole shebang.  Nothing. His sister had told him to try going to new places and keep his head clear. But his mind was more stormy than ever with the gloom of losing his job and everything he had strived for looming into his thoughts. All of his hope was weighted on this diner. If Harry came out empty-handed, he was sure he’d have to pack his bags and head home.

                Harry turned a corner and there it was. Between West 50th Street and West 51st stood his final chance at refuge. Harry didn’t know how long he stood there, in front of the entrance with his hands in his pockets, looking doubtfully at the odd little place. It had a retro theme to it that reminded him of the 50s, with red lettering that read “Stardust”. Harry had expected something extravagant and large, something that didn’t look so…run down. But he couldn’t turn back yet, he’d have to give this place a chance and pray for a miracle.

                When Harry walked inside his mouth dropped in awe. Despite the outside looking small and weary, the inside was bright and capacious. As far as he could see, every booth and chair was filled. People were laughing and singing while eating their meals. Waiters and waitresses ran around the tables delivering food and singing joyously as they did. The place was…alive. Harry took a second to breathe out a sigh of relief, he wasn’t hopeless after all.  The workers were everywhere, running up staircases to the second floor where more tables sat, singing their hearts out. One exceptional young man jumped onto the table in the center of the floor. He strutted past everyone’s meals without knocking over a single glass or fork, and gave a performance that was Broadway worthy right on that tabletop.  Harry observed each person sitting at the table, who all looked up to the boy with wonder, holding onto each note the boy sang as if it were a prayer. Harry was completely astonished. Through all of his years of watching and listening to musicals, never had he ever heard a voice as magnificent as this boy’s. He wished he could listen to it forever.

                “Excuse me, sir. Would you like a table?” A young lady with golden blonde hair held up in a ponytail looked to Harry smiling warmly, knocking him out of his trance. His mouth opened, but his mind couldn’t form words. He closed it and swallowed,  then spoke.

“Um, yes please.”

“How many?”

“Just one.”

She bent down to grab a menu from the podium, and Harry’s attention immediately flew back to the boy on the table. His song had ended and people were clapping all around him. He took a quick bow and jumped back off the table. Another song started and a waitress’ voice filled the room, she was probably on the second floor as Harry couldn’t seem to find where the voice was coming from.

“Right this way please, sir.”

It took Harry a few seconds to turn away from the boy, who had started collecting plates off an empty table and preparing it for a new customer. When he finally looked to the girl, she smiled and nodded in the direction of the young man.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

“Hm?” Harry’s mind still wasn’t functioning up to par.

“The boy who was just on the table singing ‘I’m Alive’ from Next to Normal. I saw you watching him. He’s a crowd favorite.”

This little piece of information made Harry want to know everything about him, from his favorite color to his dreams and aspirations. But Harry refrained from talking about the boy and asked to be taken to his table.

                His waiter was not who he had hoped for, but he was kind and brought his order out quickly. Harry picked at his chips and searched the bustling diner for any sign of the boy. He hadn’t even had a chance to take in his appearance, all he could remember of him was that he looked  young and lively with a light brown fringe. Hopeless. Harry was hopeless.

 Countless showtunes were sung by the staff, even some pop songs were brought into the mix, but his voice was never heard. Harry ordered a milkshake after he finished his meal to buy more time. He never wanted to leave. Harry was sure he would be content  watching the boy jump from table to table dancing and singing his heart out for the rest of his life. But he never saw him. He searched everywhere, even got up to use the restroom in hope of catching a glimpse of soft brown hair. Nothing. Harry’s milkshake started to melt, he wasn’t interested in finishing it. Feeling discouraged, he asked the waiter for his check. The waiter nodded and ran off to fetch it. As Harry collected himself and pulled out his wallet, a song ended and a new one began.

“Ma chère Mademoiselle, it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as the Stardust Diner proudly presents…your dinner!”

Harry’s head shot up and his eyes scanned the room quickly. The voice. There was a French accent added to it, but it was still his voice, it had to be. He turned around in his seat to find his boy was at the table right behind his. Harry felt his heart skip a beat and he turned back around swiftly, not wanting the boy to notice him. The song had a pause that felt like hours of silence to Harry. But then the music picked up and a seductively beautiful voice came right up to Harry’s ear, he felt his heart drop to his toes. The boy put a hand on the table right next to Harry’s unused silverware, and turned to face him. The first thing Harry registered was blue. The boy’s eyes were blue. A magnificent shade of light blue. His lips uttered the words, “Be…our…guest.” And he was off again, flying around the room, grabbing plates from other waiters’  hands and setting them down for the customers as he transformed into Lumiere from Beauty and the Beast.

“Be our guest!”

A plate was served.

“Put our service to the test”

He picked up a fork that a woman had dropped.

“Tie your napkin ‘round your neck, chèreand we’ll provide the rest.”

He picked up a napkin from a young woman’s table and held it out to her, he winked as she took it from him. He transformed the entire diner into his stage, and Harry took in every moment of it. He was breathtaking. The song went on and on, all of the waiters joined in at the chorus parts, but every eye was fixed on the boy. He never faltered, not a single step was out of place nor note off key. The boy was a prodigy.

The song ended and everyone clapped, but instead of bowing, the boy grabbed a can from behind a counter and stood on top of a chair.

“Listen up everyone! First off, I’d like to thank all of you for coming out here today. I hope everyone’s enjoying their meal. I’d like to explain how this diner came to be. Well, there were many struggling actors trying to make it big on Broadway, and one lovely lady named Ellen founded this place to hire the young actors and actresses as waiters. The funds go to voice and dance lessons that we all so desperately need.”

The boy looked to his co-workers and laughed. Harry wondered why he was here and not on stage, a boy with talent like his shouldn’t need to worry about any of that. Any director with a right mind would hand him a lead role on a silver platter.

“So if you have a heart, or money to spare, please donate to us and make our dreams come true.”

 He jumped off the chair and passed the can around. Harry took a few sips of his milkshake and put some money down for tip. Just before he stood up from his chair, the boy swooped in and held out the can to him. He looked from Harry to his meal, then smirked.

“Mint chocolate chip milkshake, good choice.”

Harry froze. He silently yelled at his brain to keep functioning and pulled out a twenty to put in the can.

“How generous of you, thank you very much.”

He smiled a smile that was so genuine and bright Harry saw stars. Before he could gain his bearings, the boy was gone. Off to another table. Harry went home.

It was late, but Harry didn’t have time to waste. As soon as he unlocked the door to his flat he went straight to his typewriter. The thing had been an old gift to Harry when he was younger. His mother used to read the stories he would  write down on paper, so she thought the typewriter would be a nice gift and less expensive than a laptop. She was right, Harry had been attached to it ever since. Thoughts and ideas ran through Harry’s head and demanded to be written, so he plugged away at the keys. An hour passed before Harry decided to take a second and look over his work. He read through and was quite pleased with himself until he realized how little he had written. He went back and frantically counted the pages, hoping he had just read through them a little too quickly. His fingers brushed through the pile in his hand, flipping through each page and checking to make sure none were stuck together. Twelve. Harry had only written twelve pages. “Shit.” His voice echoed through the dark, empty flat. He placed the pages down on the right side of his desk and propped his elbows up onto the desk top, resting his head in his hands. His hands rubbed down his face and brushed through his hair. _Just keep writing_ , he thought to himself. But as his fingers rested back on the typewriter keys, he froze. His eyes closed in concentration as he scoured his mind for more. Nothing came to him. His encounters with the boy were only enough for twelve pages. That won’t do. Harry needed more.

The next night, Harry went back to the retro diner at the same time as he arrived the night before. He requested the same table and only ordered a small salad, not wanting to feed his body diner food two nights in a row. He ate slowly and waited for any sign of the boy he saw last night, but none came. Many people came and went, songs droned on and on, beautiful voices were heard, but none that belonged to the boy. Harry sat there until only a few straggling customers remained. Then the diner closed and Harry was forced to leave empty-handed. He lay in bed and convinced himself that the boy simply did not have a shift that night and he would return tomorrow to see his blue eyed boy bouncing from table to table once again. Except the next night was the same. In fact, every night for the next two weeks was the same. Harry arrived at 6:45 p.m., was seated at the very table where he was seated the first night, and stayed until closing at 12 a.m. For two weeks, there was not a single trace of him. On Monday of the third week, Harry had had enough. When the hostess asked him if he would like a table and how many would be joining him today (even though she already knew the answer and had picked up on Harry’s nightly routine), Harry confronted her about the boy.

“Do you know of a young man who works here? He has a light brown fringe, blue eyes and a British accent I believe.”

“You mean Louis? I’m sorry sir, he had to quit a few weeks ago. He’s in one of the off-Broadway shows and his rehearsal schedule didn’t work well with his hours here.”

Quit? Harry couldn’t wrap his head around the word. _Quit_? As in, no longer employed here? Meaning Harry had no chance of ever seeing him again? It couldn’t be. Harry needed him.

“Do you know which show he’ll be performing in?”

“No. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Great.” Harry turned and walked out of the diner. The boy, Louis was in a show. An off-Broadway show could last anywhere from a month to half a year depending on how much it grosses in the box office. Harry didn’t have that kind of time. He needed to talk with him and learn the journey of the boy’s life and be inspired to write. He had no spark for seven months until he saw Louis, he was not willing to scrap it and try for a new idea. It had to be the one Louis gave him. It had to be.

                 Harry went to three off-Broadway shows a week, it was all his bank account could allow, and scanned the playbill for a boy with the name of Louis. His editor called twice, Harry didn’t dare to answer.  Each day was the same, he’d eat, take a shower, sit at his desk and stare at the typewriter, praying for something, anything to write about. His nights were unbearable, hours were spent staring at the ceiling as if he were waiting for an idea to sprout in between the wall panels.  Two months and twenty-four shows later, all Harry had were a plethora of playbills stacked in the corner of his room and a migraine.  

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't finished, it barely has begun. But I don't have much determination to keep going. So if you happen to read this and enjoy it, please let me know here or @LouismyFinnick on twitter (i will most likely see your message on twitter first) and I will continue. Thank you.


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